


Dust Moon

by swordznsorcery



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen, pirates!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7187597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordznsorcery/pseuds/swordznsorcery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fandom Stocking fic. Avon, Cally, Dayna and Tarrant have crashed on an uninhabited moon. Pirates turn up. Things explode, because Tarrant and Dayna are involved. Also swords, because pirates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust Moon

Dust Moon

 

There was still an acrid smell in the cabin; a faint, sharp tint to the air that was almost a taste as well. It had hung around for days now, ever since the shuttle had crashed, a mocking reminder of the damage, of the ruined consoles and the incinerated components within. Not that any of them needed a reminder. The sight of the shuttle, half buried in the soft silt of the river delta; the memory of the crash that had hurled them out of the stars and into the mud; was more than enough. And yet the smell lingered, taunting them further, reminding them that they were trapped here indefinitely. 

"They have shuttles." It was Tarrant's voice, raised in argument against Avon, as it had been for the past half hour. Cally rubbed her tired eyes, throwing down the shattered panels that she had been searching through, in the hope of finding something she could fix. Something useful, that might make their lives a bit easier, or that might prove a diverting project to occupy her time. By nature she was more calm than the others, but that didn't mean that she wasn't just as restless as everybody else. A moment later Avon's voice came in reply, his own side of the argument just as predictable as Tarrant's, and just as determined. Cally sighed. She felt as though she had listened to this fight a hundred times since the unknown shuttles had appeared the previous night. 

"They _had_ shuttles, Tarrant. Whoever it was who came here last night, they were set down, and then the shuttles left again. What good is that to us? We don't know who those people are, or what they're doing here. I for one have no intention of sticking my head in a guillotine, nor of allowing you to do it for me. Certainly not just on the off chance of catching a lift." 

"Nobody is asking you to take any risks, Avon." Tarrant's voice was tense and sharp, a mixture of contempt and indignation. Avon was playing at ship's captain again, something that Tarrant railed against at the best of times. Here and now, when tempers were long worn even more thin than usual, he and Avon were grating against each other more than ever. 

"And you really think that you'll be the only one in danger, do you?" Avon's temper was up as well, his growing anger showing in the ever greater note of sarcasm in his voice. "They'll just naturally assume that you're alone, I suppose; and they'll go on assuming that when you ask for passage for your three crewmates as well? Or were you planning to leave us behind?" 

"I have no intention of leaving anybody behind. Neither do I intend to trust any old spacefarer than I come across. Believe it or not, though, most people are willing to help a man in need." 

Avon's tone turned to pure acid. "Your faith in human nature is deeply touching, Tarrant. How lucky we are that the whole of the universe shares it." 

"Perhaps not, but we do have currency. Enough to persuade the average ship's crew to help us; and failing that, I'm a good deal faster on the draw than most. If I have to press-gang an entire ship's company, then I will. I don't plan on spending the rest of my life skulking on this backwater moon just because you see menace in every shadow." 

"And I say that it's too dangerous! I'm sure that you have complete faith in your ability to waltz in to our neighbours' camp, and single-handedly take over with a winning smile and one wave of your gun. In case you hadn't noticed, however, there's a price on all our heads. We're known to almost every Federation official in the galaxy; and if we're not, then the _Liberator_ certainly is. And yet here you are, hoping to ask a group of complete strangers to fly us back there. We don't know who they are. We don't know how many of them there are. We don't even know if they actually can help us. For all we know they're scientists, and those shuttles won't be coming back for months." 

"Well aren't we the picture of optimism this evening! And what exactly do you suggest, oh great leader? That we all sit here counting river reeds for the rest of our natural lives? We have no communications. We have no way off this miserable little rock. Even Orac is proving to be of little use. I don't intend to grow old here, Avon. Seven days has been quite long enough." 

"Do we get to vote on this?" Her own voice quiet and calm in comparison, Dayna spoke up next. Avon made a short, disparaging sound in reply, and Cally rose reluctantly to her feet. If Avon was looking to pick a fight with Dayna as well, she had better intervene. For good or ill, the four of them had to get along together here. They could not afford to be divided when they had so little, and when survival demanded so much. 

"There's nothing to vote on," Avon was saying, as she clambered over the broken and twisted seats to reach them. "Nobody is going to the other camp, and that's final." Cally winced. She didn't need to be a telepath to know how Tarrant would respond to that. It was Dayna who answered, however, her voice rising in pitch with her indignation. 

"And just who appointed you as king? Tarrant is right. What are we waiting for, exactly? Orac can't contact Zen. Even if he could, there's no chance of getting the _Liberator_ through those asteroid fields. Help isn't coming. If we hide from those people, and they leave, what then? It could be months before anybody lands here again. Do you want to see a winter here, Avon? We can barely gather food enough as it is." 

"You're not putting all our lives at risk on some fool's errand." Avon sounded tired; bored even. That only served to anger the others further, and as Cally emerged at last from the crashed shuttle, it was to the sight of Dayna throwing down whatever piece of electrical equipment she had been working on, rising to her feet as she did so. 

"And you're not risking my life with your paranoia. The whole of the galaxy isn't out to get us, Avon, but the Federation is. A few weeks or months from now, this region of space will be part of a massive Federation mining project. That's why we're here, remember? They might not have any reason to land here, but how do we make sure that they don't find us? Or do you intend to spend the rest of your life burrowing under the ground, as well as stranded on a moon?" She drew in a deep breath, but it seemed to do little to quell her temper. "Somebody has to do something, or the game's over for the lot of us." 

"It's decided then," said Tarrant. Cally looked from one to the other of them – Dayna and Tarrant all hot-eyed and hotter tempered; Avon sprawled on a salvaged chair, languid on the outside, but with eyes like dark ice. She went down to join them, but she had an idea that by now anything she could say would come too late. 

"We really shouldn't be fighting about this," she attempted anyway. Dayna and Tarrant both looked her way, but she knew instinctively what they were thinking. Their group was too polarised, and always had been. Somehow it always came down to her and Avon on one side, and Tarrant and Dayna on the other. Perhaps it was as simple as the age-old struggle of youth against maturity; perhaps it was just a fundamental truth of who they were. Either way, the pair were not about to listen to her now. With a wordless look at each other, they turned and left. It did not require much guesswork to realise where they were heading. 

"Come back," said Avon, quietly, in a voice rich with heavy-laden sarcasm, and pitched at a volume that was not expected to be heard. Cally shot him a sharp glare. 

"Well done. You do know where they're going?" 

"Of course I do." He sounded perfectly happy about it, which told her two things. One, his fight with Tarrant had been staged, and two, he was up to something that she was not going to like. Neither realisation did anything to lessen the power of her glare. 

"What have you done?" she asked him. "They're rushing off out there into who knows what. There might be great danger." 

"Certain to be." Avon heaved himself to his feet. "Those two could take a stroll on a deserted beach and fall into a major catastrophe." 

"And why do I have a nasty suspicion that they're doing exactly what you want them to do?" 

"Because unlike our two hot-headed young friends, you take the time to think things through." His eyes narrowed, this latest sentence apparently too much like an honest compliment for his liking. "Occasionally." 

"Let me rephrase the question." She made sure that he got the full force of a glare that, if required, could carry with it a telepathic scolding for extra emphasis. "Why did you just manipulate them in that fashion?" 

"To make sure that they left." He poured himself a mug of water from their increasingly limited store. "Our friends over there on the other side of that hill are pirates. Orac was listening in on them when they were dropped off by their colleagues. Pirates, smugglers, bounty hunters. I imagine that it's all the same to them. If the rest of you bothered to consult Orac occasionally, you might know these things too." 

"Bounty hunters?" Cally's eyes widened. "Avon, if they capture Tarrant and Dayna, then—" 

"Then they'll have to send for a shuttle to come back, won't they." His smile was dazzling, his conscience – such as it was – perfectly clear. "A foolproof plan, even if I do say so myself. Either Tarrant will succeed in taking over their camp, or he'll be captured, recognised, and sold to the Federation. Either way, we'll be back aboard the _Liberator_ in no time." He beamed at her, and held up his mug in salute. "It's all right, you don't have to thank me." 

" _Thank_ you?" She turned away. Tarrant and Dayna were already gone from view, lost amid the natural twists and turns of the landscape. Mentally she searched for them, but she could not make contact. Their minds were not receptive enough – too angry, she supposed, which was probably just what Avon had intended. Clearly he guessed what she was doing, for he laughed suddenly, the sound as humourless as the man. 

"Something wrong?" There was a teasing glint in his eyes, displacing the ice, if only a little. This time when she glared at him she didn't hold back, and let him feel her anger as well as see it. A flutter of a wince showed on his face very briefly, before he returned to sipping his water. 

"They're our shipmates, Avon. Our friends." 

"Your friends, possibly. Primarily they're a resource. Occasionally useful, yes, and possibly now more than ever." 

"Tarrant has an execution order on his head, had you thought about that? He's a deserter. Any bounty hunter might just decide to collect the reward for him dead rather than alive. If he should prove difficult—" 

"Which he will," interjected Avon mildly. "He _is_ Tarrant." Cally's glare turned several shades darker, in exasperation rather than rage. 

"Don't you care even a little? I thought that you liked Dayna." 

"She showed early promise. That unfortunate tendency of hers to align herself with Tarrant has proved her undoing. It's sad, but there you are." He sighed. "Look, it's not as though I'm doing this for my own personal entertainment. What the pair of them said was quite true. We do need to get off this moon. We can't contact Zen, and he couldn't come to the rescue anyway. You know as well as I do that only a small ship, expertly piloted, can find a way through all those asteroids and dust clouds. If we are to stand the slightest chance of escaping from this place, we have to take the risk." 

"And you couldn't let them take that risk knowingly?" 

"They might easily have chosen not to take it. Given their propensity for hurling themselves into danger, it seemed unlikely, but Dayna at least does have some measure of sense. Besides, it's not as if they're heading into certain disaster. I'm hardly Tarrant's greatest fan, but he does possess some remarkable abilities, and Dayna can be quite exceptional. They might easily succeed in their own plan. As I said, we can't really lose." 

" _If_ the shuttles are still within communications range. _If_ those pirates are interested in picking up a bounty, rather than adhering to whatever plan brought them here. _If_ rather a lot of things." 

"So go after them." He sounded tired, the way he sometimes did when forced to deal with outbreaks of other people's unfathomable emotions. She knew better than to bother pressing the issue. Instead she turned her back on him, intending to return to the shuttle. Racing after Tarrant and Dayna would get little accomplished now. She had already had ample proof that they were in no mood to be discouraged. 

"Just make sure that you're ready," she told him. "If a shuttle comes and goes, and you don't see it, then this will all have been for nothing. You'll have sacrificed our friends, and missed our only chance of rescue." 

"I had considered that. Orac is monitoring everything. As soon as the message is sent, he'll intercept it, and send one of my own devising instead. The shuttle will land near here, I shall commandeer it, and then we can leave. It's very simple." 

She swung back around. "And Tarrant and Dayna?" He hesitated then, and she got the uncomfortable impression that he hadn't considered the issue – that he might even have been intending to save himself and leave them behind. He shrugged. 

"I'm sure that we can think of something suitable, once that shuttle is in our hands." 

"You'd better hope that we do. Without Tarrant we stand little chance of flying through all that debris." 

"The shuttle will come with its own pilot. Failing that, I'm sure that Orac is equal enough to the task." He held her gaze, and his lips twitched in a brief smile. "Very well. We'll rescue them." 

"You really were intending to leave them behind!" She was shocked without being greatly surprised. This time his smile was a little brighter, a little more warm. 

"You'll never know, will you." 

"And me, Avon? Would you have left me behind?" 

"Similarly, Cally, that is a question best left unanswered." His gaze hardened. "For what it's worth, I would very much rather not." 

"How lucky I am." She turned around, and this time did not stop, heading quickly back into the shuttle. Where Avon was concerned, there was very little point in arguing. He was a man best left to himself. 

**********

The sun sank quickly on the little moon. The thin atmosphere carried much dust from the nearby asteroid fields, and the sky was turned a blazing red as evening raced past in a rush. Everything glowed. Clambering over a low hill, Tarrant and Dayna stared out at their little world, in all its ruby red finery. It was hard to discern details in the strange lighting, but they could see the bright shine of what appeared to be lamps in the distance. The camp of the new arrivals, almost certainly. To the best of their knowledge there was nobody else alive on this curious rock. 

"Do we actually have a plan?" asked Dayna. Tarrant smiled, a familiar, somewhat lofty expression that she had come to know well. 

"As I told Avon, I intend to get us off this moon. Beyond that, I have no specific plan in mind, no." 

"We don't know how many people are down there," she pointed out. "Or who they are, or how they're armed, or how they'll react when they see us." 

"And yet you came along," he said. She smiled. They both knew that she had never even considered staying behind. Somehow the pair of them had got into the habit of working together, of always being together, wherever that happened to take them. They had a similar approach to life, a similar love of adventure, and a similar inability to sit still, whenever there was the promise of something more interesting to do instead. That either one of them might have made this trip alone had never been a possibility. 

"I could hardly have let you have all the fun alone," she told him. He smiled a thin smile, eyes scanning the fiery red horizons all the while. 

"Visibility is low. Still, it will be for them as well. Be careful of booby traps, and maybe we can use this infernal dusk to our advantage." 

"Booby traps? You're starting to sound like Avon." 

"Avon may be a paranoid madman, but he's no fool, Dayna. Sometimes he makes a lot of sense." A glint in Tarrant's eye caught the red light, giving his sudden spark of good humour a faintly demonic air. "Just don't tell him that I said that. Whoever these people are, they're hiding out in a very dangerous region of space. We know from experience that it's impossible to make contact with anything beyond the asteroid belt, due to all of that peculiar dust. That means that if our friends down there are going to be of any use to us, then their shuttles have got to have stayed on this side of the field, in an orbit filled with more rock than empty space. And why on Jupiter would anybody want to risk that?" 

"A quick getaway? And should anybody scan the planet, they'd be far less likely to see the shuttles up there, in all that debris, than they would down on the ground." She nodded slowly. "Not a scientific outpost then." 

"No. The Federation would never tolerate one here anyway, not with their mining operation due to get underway. That's supposed to be a secret, remember. No, our friends down there are up to nothing legal, and I'd bet the _Liberator_ on that. It's my guess that they're pirates or smugglers. And if we want to be off this rock before the skies fill up with Federation mining vessels, then we'd better hope that that's exactly what they are." 

"Effectively it's what we are too," she said. He nodded. 

"Unfortunately, telling them that wouldn't be likely to get us invited to dinner. They'd just blow our heads off, and leave us to the insects." 

"We do choose our evening strolls particularly well, don't we." 

"Wherever possible." They shared a smile, before Dayna gestured that they should duck down. 

"I can see somebody," she said. Tarrant followed her line of sight. Sure enough, a human shape had just come into view, walking along what was likely the perimeter of the camp. A guard on patrol, on an ostensibly uninhabited world. That suggested at a level of paranoia that would have impressed even Avon, and it drew a slow, deliberate nod from Dayna. 

"Definitely not scientists," she observed. "All right. So we have a camp full of who knows how many cut-throats. Is the plan still to walk in there and ask for a lift?" 

"It never was, not really. I had hoped that we'd find a shuttle still on the ground. One small one might easily escape detection. They're clearly not taking any chances though." 

"So instead we slip in there, capture or kill potentially vast numbers of unseen assailants, and then somehow entice one of their shuttles to return here to land?" She raised her eyebrows. "Well that should be simple enough." 

"My dear Dayna, you're going to have to stop spending so much time around Avon. Such sarcasm does not become you." 

"Such insanity doesn't become either one of us." She sighed, before checking her gun, and whatever interesting playthings were secreted about her person today. "Come on. Let's get this over with. I want to get back up in space again just as soon as I can." 

**********

They crept down the other side of the hill as carefully as they could, the fierce red glow of dusk darkening around them at every step. Before they were halfway down, the night had come, and the grey mud and greyer vegetation sank into the gloom. It was no easy task to keep an eye out for booby traps, but if there was anything to trigger, it seemed that they avoided doing so. Soon enough they were on the outskirts of the camp, standing silently in an effort to hear all that the night kept hidden. 

It was not a large camp. They had seen perhaps four shuttles pass by, most of which appeared to have deposited cargo crates, that stood now in uneven piles. Tarrant and Dayna took a moment to wonder at what might be inside them, but they had to conclude that now was not the time for such curiosity. Instead they pressed on, past crates and machine parts, water drills and camouflage netting, the signs of an intention to set up some kind of base. Occasional snatches of distant conversation were borne to them on a faint, warm breeze, but so far, aside from that one, roving guard, they had seen not a single soul. 

"We should find the commander," whispered Dayna, as they reached a row of shimmering silver tents. "A hostage could be useful." Tarrant nodded. They looked for the biggest tent, settling at last upon one positioned centrally, its roof raised rather higher than the others. There was a flag pole driven into the ground beside it, and upon it fluttered a flag, a rectangle of deepest black that stood out against the paler black of the sky. A skull and crossbones grinned down at them, bright white in the grimy, dust-laden light of the moons. That was one question answered at least. Together, almost in perfect synchronicity, Tarrant and Dayna drew their guns. 

"Ready?" asked Tarrant, as they positioned themselves on either side of the tent flap. His words were too quiet to hear, but Dayna recognised them from his lips, and nodded in reply. She was always ready. He had learnt that from their first meeting, when her quiet, ruthless efficacy had first attracted his attention. It was one of her greatest assets, and he had come to depend upon it as surely as he depended upon his own. 

Very cautiously they edged forward. From somewhere inside the tent they could hear the sound of deep, regular breathing. So far at least things seemed to be going well. If they could catch the leader of this group when he was asleep, they would have an unquestionable advantage – always supposing that these people cared enough about each other for it to count. It was a hazard that occurred to both Dayna and Tarrant as they prepared to slip into the tent. Neither of them mentioned it. There was little sense in worrying over something that they couldn't control. 

"Okay?" asked Dayna's expression. Tarrant nodded, and held up three fingers. Two fingers. One. Dayna's hand closed around the shining silver of the tent flap, and began to draw it open – and in that very instant the camp was flooded in light. It came from every direction – a circle of white, frenzied illumination that left the pair of them hopelessly dazzled. Arm thrown up in a wretched attempt to protect his eyes, Tarrant whirled about with gun upraised. There was nothing that he could do. Two men were upon him immediately, another two overpowering Dayna likewise. Blinded as they were, neither had had a chance to see the assault coming. 

"Well now, what do we have here?" The voice was deep and booming, and seemed to come from somewhere above even Tarrant's not inconsiderable height. His arms twisted behind his back, the young outlaw could do nothing to protect his eyes, and although he tried to open them, the searing brightness left him unable to see a thing. Beside him he could hear Dayna struggling, and could not help but smile. She was small and slight, but she was still a force to be reckoned with. Blind and overpowered, she still would not give in. 

"A pair of rats, looks like," said another voice. This one was thinner, reedier than the first, and appeared to come from a much smaller man. "Easy enough to deal with rats." 

"Don't be so quick with that knife of yours, Lands." The deep voice again. "I say we find out who they are first. Time enough to fillet them later, once we're sure they're alone." Something heavy and hard collided with the back of Tarrant's collar, and he felt himself being propelled violently forward. Plastic material brushed past his head – the tent flap no doubt – and then, abruptly, there was darkness. No, not quite. He blinked, grateful eyes still watering from the assault of the fierce lights outside. Here there was simply one small lamp, a single candle burning inside it. It displayed a basic, comfortable living space, and a sleep-tousled man sitting up in a silver sleeping bag. Whoever he was, he did not look best pleased to be disturbed. 

"What is this?" He stood up, silver trousers ballooning out about his legs as he did so. "I gave orders that I wasn't to be disturbed." 

"Trouble, captain." The big, tall voice again. Tarrant and Dayna, shoved forward into the circle of lamp light, got a vague glimpse of five figures in the gloom. They were pulling off visors, one by one revealing the faces that lay beneath. In the half light they loomed as sinister shadows, one very much larger than the rest. 

"Intruders?" Heaving on a heavy leather jerkin, the captain moved forward into the lamplight, looking the two prisoners up and down. He was not an especially tall man, but he was broad, his arms and legs like tree trunks. A thick black beard bristled its way across half of his face, following his jaw line down his throat, and vanishing into the jerkin. A pair of eyes, just as black, stared steadily at Dayna and Tarrant. "They don't look like Federation officers." 

"Oh I'm quite sure that they're not." The big voice once again. The man behind it moved closer, revealing a veritable colossus, all red hair and red skin, dressed in what appeared to be leather armour. It was brown and faded, set all about with metal straps and discs, many dented as though from battle. A pair of huge, heavy hands reached out, one descending upon Tarrant's left shoulder, the other upon Dayna's right. "There's a shuttle crashed near here. We wrote it off as insignificant, but there must have been survivors. Now, they could have been coming over here to say hello, but that doesn't explain their guns." 

"We're naturally suspicious," said Tarrant. A booming laugh came in answer. 

"So are we, boy. And my suspicion tells me that no law-abiding citizen of this universe has any reason to be skulking about in this backwater. If you're here, you're here for the same reason as us. Right?" 

"We're geologists," said Dayna. She made no attempt to make it sound convincing; she already knew that she would not be believed. The laugh came again, and the hands on their shoulders squeezed slightly; just enough to hurt. 

"Oh, you're interested in stones all right. Seventeen million credits worth of magentastone that the Federation is hoping to mine from all those asteroids. You intercepted the same secret report that we did. But the two of you? You couldn't hope to do much alone. Who else is out there?" 

"We're just here as scouts," said Tarrant. It was at least partially true. "Before we can plan how best to raid the mining operations, we need to know the area. Unfortunately our shuttle proved inadequate. We were sold faulty shielding." The distaste with which he spoke was real enough. He would not easily forget the smug smile of the man who had sold them the shuttle. Perfect for their needs, supposedly. Tarrant hoped to get the chance to meet with him again. 

"And there were only two of you?" asked the captain. He clearly didn't believe it, and Dayna saw no reason to risk his suspicion. She looked away, as though to hide her grief. 

"There are now. It was a bad crash." 

"Easy enough to check. We'll send somebody out there as soon as it's light. Rest assured that if you have any friends lurking out there, you've seen them for the last time." The captain sighed. "All right. As you were, everybody. I don't really see why this was reason enough to disturb me." 

"What do you want done with them?" asked the reedy voice of before. It belonged to a thin-faced man too immersed in shadow to see clearly. He looked sallow and sour, and his hands moved restlessly, lit sporadically by the candlelight bouncing off his unsheathed knife. The captain shrugged. 

"What do I care. Get rid of them. We have seventeen million credits to think about. I don't see how two scrawny space rats could match up to that. Just be quiet, so if they do have friends out there, they don't get put on the alert." Somewhere above the glinting knife blade, a set of half visible teeth gleamed briefly in a smile. 

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, captain." The giant, his fingers still digging into his captives' shoulders, showed no sign of wishing them especially well, but clearly he was a little less ill-disposed than the others. "We only have their word. They might be the advance guard for a big operation. They might be anybody." 

"The girl is barely out of the schoolroom," sneered the thin-faced knifeman. "The other's hardly older. If that's the advance guard of some powerful group, then standards are slipping." 

"The Federation has arrested or killed that many people that standards _are_ slipping, Lands." Neither Tarrant nor Dayna could see the giant's face, but they could hear his meaningful smile. "That's why we have you." The sallow man gave a start, but if he had intended to fight, he quickly thought the better of it. All the same, his eyes burned brightly in the lamp flame. 

"Kill them and they're no trouble anymore," he said. The giant nodded. 

"But we can do that any time. Keep them alive for a while at least, and they might be useful. They might be hostages, or they might be informants." He laughed quietly, the ripples of his laughter transmitting themselves down his powerful arms, and into his massive hands. Both Tarrant and Dayna felt it in every pinching, penetrating finger. It did not feel friendly. "If nothing else, they can always be entertainment." 

"Now that's a better idea." A new voice, younger and more cheerful, came from near the entrance. A dark man, darker than Dayna, invisible but for his shining golden boots. "We haven't had any decent entertainment in a while. Let's have us a fight." The captain, with an unhappy sigh, nodded his unkempt head. 

"Very well. Do as you please. Just remember that we need to be quiet. If they're lying, there could be an army out there somewhere. It's hardly the time for play." 

"Our scans would have detected an army," said the giant. "At most there's one or two people sheltering in a broken shuttle, and they know about us anyway." He relinquished his grip upon Dayna and Tarrant long enough to give them both a hearty slap on the back. "If either of these two tries to sound an alarm, I'll blow their heads off personally. Just relax and embrace the traditions, captain." His hands dropped back into place, gripping with even more force than before. "And I'll break out the swords." 

**********

Cally laid aside her repair work, finding herself frustratingly unable to concentrate. Her conversation with Avon was still troubling her, although by now she was more than used to his lack of compassion. The continuing lack of contact with Tarrant and Dayna worried her too. Either she was not focusing properly, or they were still too distracted to be receptive to her – or they were dead. She chose not to dwell on the third possibility. She was not especially close to either of her new crewmates, but they were people, and compassion meant a great deal to Cally. It was part and parcel of being so sensitive to the emotions felt by others. 

"Avon?" She stood up, heading outside to where she had last seen him, idly twisting ruined electrical fibres into basic computer components. There was no sign of him. It was too dark to think of foraging for food, and he had not been inside the shuttle. She called his name again – then, with a deepening frown, turned to Orac, glowing in a hundred shifting colours in the deep shadow beneath a broken wing. 

"Orac, did Avon leave?" she asked. The pattern of lights changed, pulsing irregularly in a seemingly random display. 

"If he is not here, then he must be somewhere else. That much must surely be obvious." As always the computer sounded irritatable, no doubt dragged from some contemplation of his own. 

"Did he say where he was going?" 

"He did." There was no elaboration, and Cally sighed. Orac had a devotion to the literal that bordered on the manic, and frequently drove his ship mates to distraction. 

"Where did he say that he was going?" she persisted. The computer made a sound very like a frustrated sigh. 

"He intended to see what is happening at the nearby settlement. He has plans to leave this place, and if I may say so, it is about time. How can I be expected to function correctly when I am cut off from reliable communication with all networks? The space dust in this region is really quite—" 

"Thank you Orac." She silenced him with a swift removal of his activator key, sending him back into hibernation – or whatever it was that he did when the key was gone. It was not the same as turning him off, she had long ago learned that. Silence restored to the camp, she looked about. There were a few footprints here and there, but she knew that she couldn't count on following them for long. The terrain was too changeable, and the light too faint. Instead, working on a basic assumption, she struck out in an approximation of the direction taken by Dayna and Tarrant. For better or worse, they would probably all end up in the same place eventually. 

It was not easy going. There was a lot of low-lying vegetation, much of it coarse and prickly, and in the dark the rises and falls of the ground were hard to discern. She tripped and stumbled often, but she had faced far worse. The three neighbouring moons that lit the sky at night sent out a scattered, orange-tinted light due to the dust in the sky, vanishing altogether all too frequently. A combination of a cloudy sky and a debris-strewn atmosphere made the night no time for easy manoeuvre. Nonetheless, she made reasonable progress, and soon enough she stood on the rise of the low hill. 

She could see the camp of the new arrivals now, looking down on it just as Tarrant and Dayna had done some hours before. There were lights on, and it was clear that the camp was awake, although she was too far away to see what was happening. Lamp lights moved hither and yon, bouncing up and down as they were carried about by restless humans. Others swayed on long poles, and in the rough centre of the camp, another, vastly bigger light leapt and danced; a fire, the wild, jagged tangle of red, orange and yellow granting the camp a carnival appearance that was oddly welcoming. She crouched down, the better to observe, and tried to seek out Avon. He was dressed in black, as he so often was, but his jerkin bore many studs of shining, pointed silver. Knowing what to look for, she found him eventually, crouched low a good distance away. He was far nearer to the camp than she, prowling about on some scouting errand. The studs on his jerkin flashed occasionally, reflecting the light of fire and moons in a flickering of orange that made him stand out probably more than he realised. She was not the only one to have seen him. Nearby, and creeping closer all the while, was a man, a long, wicked knife gripped in one hand. 

"Avon." She didn't have to worry about getting through. Avon always heard her. He had the most calm and focused mind of anybody she had ever known. "Behind you and to your right, there's a man. He has a knife." She felt the delicate brush of a question, and tried to gauge the distance. He was too far away to be sure. "He'll be upon you in perhaps ten seconds. Watch yourself." A moment later she saw a blink of orange-lit silver as he ducked aside. There was no gunshot, but the knifeman dropped like a stone nonetheless. Dressed in pale gold and ghostly white, he was so much more visible than Avon. A second later she saw his still form being dragged out of sight by a shadow. 

"Is he dead?" she asked. In answer, a scarcely visible black smudge of an arm waved to her, calling her close. She went, hurrying down an awkward, obstacle-strewn slope until she reached Avon. He was busy tying up his victim using a length of plastic rope. 

"You have a talent for being unexpectedly useful," he said, in what passed for thanks. She smiled. 

"It was my pleasure." She continued speaking to him telepathically. In many ways it was more natural to her, and it helped to cut down on noise. He was used to it, having long ago accepted it for the useful form of communication that it was. "What do we do next?" 

"Everything is taking too long. They should have sent for a shuttle by now. Orac has detected nothing." He sounded disgruntled, "It would be just our luck if those two couldn't even manage to get themselves captured properly." 

"It's more likely that your plan has backfired. I just hope that they're not dead." Together they crept closer to the camp, both on the alert for further sentries. They saw none. It seemed as though the entire complement were gathered in the centre of the circle of tents, where the fire crackled and spat. A faint smell drifted through the warm night air, and Avon frowned when he recognised it. Alcohol. There was a shout from somewhere, as of great amusement, and somebody tossed a wooden cask into the air. Wine perhaps, or beer. Nothing too refined, but more than good enough for what sounded liked the makings of a party. 

"Keep the noise down," somebody grumbled. Somebody else thumped him solidly, the thwack of fist against leather plainly audible even from a distance. 

"It doesn't matter who hears us partying," came another voice. "Might even encourage them to come snooping around here, if they think we're distracted enough. Save us the trouble of a round-up in the morning." 

"And stops us from hearing if they do." The first voice sounded irritated, but the argument didn't persist. Cally frowned, trying to discern whose shape was whose amongst all the flickering shadows near the fire. 

"They know about us," she thought to Avon. He nodded, his quiet voice showing a note of distaste. 

"And they're not friendly. Now there's a surprise." 

"Do we go closer?" 

"If we want to know what's going on, we shall have to. All I can see from here is different shades of orange and black." He edged forward carefully, using the circle of silver tents as cover, and Cally followed close behind. They had both drawn their guns, but they had no desire to use them. To do so would bring the whole of the camp down on their heads. 

"How many people do you see?" asked Avon. Cally tried counting, searching with her eyes as well as her mind. It was not easy. There was too much movement, too much darkness. She thought that she could distinguish perhaps six or seven people, but it could easily have been more or less. Avon's answer was much the same. 

"We must get closer, he said, irritation showing even in the softness of his whisper. "If they're drunk, we won't get a better chance. We must get closer to the fire. And try to look inside the tents while you're at it. Two of us against half an army won't be much use without a little more firepower." 

"We didn't come here for a battle, Avon." 

"We may not have a choice. Look around you. This is no small operation. They're bound to be here for the magentastone, and if they are, they won't want to lose out to us. They should have plenty of weapons, though, and we can use that to our advantage." He ducked sharply as a cheer rang out across the camp, although they could not see the cause of it. "Look for explosives especially. They have a pleasant efficiency when it comes to dealing with large groups of people." 

"Avon..." But as ever there was no sense in arguing, and she could see that he did have a point. She nodded. "Be careful." He shot her a disparaging look at that, offended by the comment. Avon liked to think that he was always careful, led by his constant state of paranoia. She knew differently. At times he could be almost as foolhardy as Tarrant, albeit for different reasons. He believed in calculated risk, but where the vagaries of human action were concerned, calculations were all too often unreliable. 

"This way," he told her, and crouching low, he began to creep between two close lying tents. She chose a different pair of tents to slip between. It would be too easy for them to be trapped if they stayed too close together. Soon enough they were almost within the circle at the centre of the camp, and for the first time they could see what was going on. 

There were seven pirates, at least as far as Cally could tell, of all shapes and sizes and colours. Most were drinking, most were laughing; and in the centre of them, tied together by a length of chain, were Tarrant and Dayna. They looked none the worse for wear, but it was clear that both were simmering. Somebody offered Dayna a silver tankard, trying to make her drink, and she stamped hard on his foot. A gale of rowdy laughter rose up, but the mood did not feel light-hearted. There was an undercurrent of menace that Avon could sense just as plainly as Cally. All too clearly, there was no summoning of lurking shuttles on the agenda. The night's venture looked far from the foolproof marvel that Avon had hoped. 

"Satisfied?" thought Cally to the night air around her. She didn't need to hear a reply. Avon's withering glare was answer enough, as sharp and clear as any shout. 

**********

In the centre of the camp, Dayna tugged surreptitiously at the cuff around her wrist, trying not to let it show that she was in pain. It was fastened tightly, and was heavy and coarse into the bargain, weighing down her arm even as it bit into her skin. It was at times such as these – brief, fleeting times – that her youth and lack of experience made itself known, and she had no wish to share that with others. Fighting was something she understood. She had made that her life. Crushed into a circle of marauding pirates, jostled and bound and facing an uncertain future – that was not so familiar. Beside her, Tarrant was stony-faced and silent, but she recognised his unease. Tarrant liked control. He liked to be able to flash that bright smile, and pace about with that bold, cocky swagger, and know that fate was at his command – or appeared to be. Here the scales were weighted far too uncomfortably against them, and aside from a brief smile some time ago, he had been less than supportive. She could almost have wished for a little more contact, for all that it was not usually her style. 

"How are you both?" It was the giant, striding towards them on his huge, powerful legs, red hair aflame in the fire's matching glow. He held a sword in either hand, old heirlooms by the look of them, their broad, wicked blades flashing red and gold. He had mentioned swords before. Dayna had not bothered to wonder if he had been joking. "A few simple rules. One of you against one of us. The better the fight, the longer you'll live. The aim is to disarm, not to kill, but don't expect anybody to go easy on you. The best of three wins the fight." 

"And if we win?" asked Tarrant. The giant smirked unpleasantly. 

"Then you fight somebody else. This is entertainment, not a challenge. No options, no deals." He threw one of the swords to the ground. "Decide who's going to fight. If you refuse, you take the sword the hard way." With that he strode away again, the one remaining sword raised high above his head. There was a chorus of cheers from the other pirates, and somebody handed him a flagon nearly as big as an ordinary man's head. Dayna frowned. 

"If they carry on drinking, we might get the advantage." 

"Something tells me that they fight better drunk than most people do sober." Tarrant bent to pick up the fallen sword, turning it over in his hands. "I studied fencing at the academy. One of those charmingly dated skills that they like an officer to have. I can do this." 

"I can fight too. Old time weapons have always been an interest of mine." 

"Yes, I know, and you're one of the best that I've met. You don't have the reach though. They're all twice your size, and they didn't learn by fighting against primitives on a backwater planet." 

"You want to give me that sword, and let me show you how primitive my fighting skills are?" 

He smiled at that, a familiar, half-mocking smile that brought with it all the arrogance that his expressive eyes were capable of conjuring. "Not particularly. Look, you don't have to prove anything to me. You heard what he said, though. The more we can spin this out, the better chance we have of surviving. Grant me this one, yes?" 

"Just don't expect me to come to your rescue." 

He smiled again. "Oh, I always count on you, Dayna." For a moment the arrogance was gone, and in its place was an honesty that was rare indeed, at least amongst their ship's company. She smiled back, very briefly, and with a gratitude that she did her best to hide. A moment later he was calling out to their captors, and with that he was gone from her side. One of the pirates fixed his empty cuff to a tent peg, a token show of restraint that for now Dayna did not put to the test. She was thinking only of the future. If an opening came, they would have to take it. If she was lucky, a chain swinging free from one arm would be a useful weapon. 

Tarrant's opponent was the rat-faced man with the reedy voice. Dayna had not seen him clearly before, but she recognised him anyway, from the voice when he called out a challenge, and from the sallow look of his skin. Although he was not a powerful man, he was good with a sword, but Dayna could see immediately that so was Tarrant. The blades clashed then leapt apart, crossing and recrossing in a musical crescendo of bright, sparking steel. A cheer went up from the crowd. They had not expected a proper fight, it seemed, but now they had one. Tarrant ducked and weaved like an expert, goading his opponent into obvious irritation. One or two of the pirates laughed when the rat-faced man – Lands, the giant had called him – slipped up and made a mistake. It was clear that he was not popular amongst the crew. When Tarrant, pressing a hard-won advantage, sent the other sword spinning away, there was even a chorus of cheers. Lands retrieved his weapon, eyes hot and burning. 

"Don't get cocky," breathed Dayna, but Tarrant of course could not hear her. Lands came for him again and again, on the offensive now, and looking for more than simple disarmament. The crowd cheered again, enjoying the higher stakes, the greater force of the blows, the nearer and nearer misses. Lands' sword caught at one of Tarrant's billowing white sleeves, and Tarrant retaliated with a hard flurry that drove the other man back, back, until they were almost out of the firelight. Dayna's pulse raced. Was this the moment? Could he make a break for it now? If he could lose himself in the shadows, she could make a dash for freedom herself, when everybody raced after him. It was not to be. Lands fought back hard, bringing the struggle back towards the centre of camp, his expression fierce and determined. Tarrant feinted left, dodged about him, and slashed out at a guide rope, felling half a tent. The flapping material swirled about Lands, tripping him up and nearly bringing him down. There was a roar of laughter from the crowd, and Lands, patience gone, pulled his knife from his belt. He threw it with the skill of an artist, and Tarrant hurled himself aside only just in time, hitting the ground hard. 

Fast though he was, he was only halfway back up when Lands was upon him, the hilt of his sword knocking Tarrant's weapon aside, the flat of the blade racing back up, and pressing hard against his throat. Tarrant fought back, struggling against the furious strength of an insulted man, but the sword pressed ever harder against his neck. Desperate, Dayna's hands flew to her pockets. She had been searched, her weapons stash confiscated, but there might be something that they had overlooked. Something in an inner pocket, or a hidden pouch on her belt. Something concealed in a flap of clothing, or in the lining of a boot... It was a trick that she could use only once; a possible advantage that she should not throw away lightly; but she could not stand and watch Tarrant die. Not Tarrant, of all people. He was the only true friend she had ever known. 

With a kick that seemed to come from the very depths of the earth, suddenly he had turned the tables. She almost missed seeing it, her fingers closing at last around one small explosive charge sewn into the hem of her jacket. Lands went flying over Tarrant's head, and Tarrant, grabbing his sword back from where it had fallen, rolled back up to his feet. There was blood on his collar, but he looked more than ready to fight on, and as Lands clambered back to his feet, they clashed again with new vigour. They were both angry now, tied at one win each, and both looking to draw new blood. The pirate crew were as engrossed in the fight as they were ever likely to be. Dayna was quite sure that she could slip away now and make a good escape. Perhaps that was even what Tarrant had intended should happen. For a moment she almost considered it. The tent peg came up easily, and the length of chain she wrapped around her arm, so that it wouldn't rattle. It was just a question of making her move. She waited. Life with the crew of the _Liberator_ had taught her that caring for others was a weakness easily exploited. Avon would run now, and she was quite sure that Vila would too. Would Tarrant, if their roles were reversed? She didn't think so. She was still standing, trapped in her wretched dilemma, when twin gun blasts from out of nowhere dropped two of the pirates stone dead beside the fire. 

"To arms!" roared somebody. Whoever it was got no further, Tarrant's sword, thrown with impressive accuracy, cut him down before he had taken a step. Lands reacted with an angry yell, but Tarrant was ready for him, catching his sword arm in both of his hands, and wrestling him for control of the blade. Dayna was ready as well, hurling her hidden bomb into the fire with a throw that might have delighted her, had there been more time for reflection. She broke into a run before it landed, bowling one of the nearer pirates off his feet, just as the explosion sent fiery brands raining down on all of them. The pirate was bigger than her, and far stronger, but she was fast, and possessed of a brutal efficiency that spoke for itself. She swung the chain about her wrist with all the power of her small but wiry frame, and the pirate, caught by surprise, was defenceless against it. The empty cuff caught him squarely in the face, and blood sprayed from his shattered nose. He collapsed. By the time she had steadied herself, Tarrant was dispatching Lands, and turning to meet his next opponent. Horribly predictably, it proved to be the giant. 

"Tarrant!" She ran to him without thinking, bloodied chain dangling, hands clenched into fists that looked woefully inadequate against a man easily twice her height. Gunfire told her that Avon and Cally – she assumed that that was who it was – were close by, but they had lost the element of surprise now, and were lying low, exchanging shots with several of the pirates. Nobody was paying any attention to her and Tarrant, ranged against the flame-haired man-mountain before them. 

"Entertainment enough for you?" asked Tarrant. The giant smiled, all of his teeth on show. For all that his eyes crinkled at the corners, it was not a friendly expression. 

"Very good," he said. His voice rang out, loud and clear above the sounds of the ongoing shootout. Dayna's bomb had ruined the fire, and there was less light to see by now, although chunks of burning wood were strewn far and wide. She considered picking up a piece, but rejected the idea. It wasn't precise enough to use as a weapon. Instead she tried to gauge where best to hit him with the chain, in the hope that she could repeat the success of before. He had a gun at his belt, but he had made no effort to draw it, which was little comfort. Had he wanted them dead, he could have blasted them both already; but clearly he didn't feel that he needed to bother. 

"Surrender and we'll let you go free," said Tarrant cheerfully. Dayna almost laughed. Sometimes she thought that he was crazy – but then what did that make her, beside him in everything? This time the pirate was less amused, and with a lopsided smile, he raised his massive fists and charged. There was no real finesse to his actions – he had no need of any. One blow from one of those huge hands would have felled somebody very much bigger than either Dayna or Tarrant, and Dayna knew that all too well. She swung her chain, more deftly this time, but the giant was rather faster than his colleague. He caught the flailing end of it as though its whip-like force was nothing – and then she was trapped. Smirking, he began to haul her close. 

"Forgetting somebody?" asked Tarrant, leaping into the fray with his usual gusto, delivering a rain of blows that would easily have done for a smaller man. The giant seemed scarcely bothered, swatting at Tarrant as though he were a fly, and concentrating all the while upon Dayna. She fought back against him with all of her might, but her feet slipped on the ground, and she was pulled inexorably closer. He was playing with her, she realised, spinning it out when he could easily have dragged her within reach in a moment. Tarrant had realised that too, and redoubled his own efforts. It seemed to have no effect at all. 

"Where are your jokes now?" asked the giant, and Dayna, desperate, took the last chance that she seemed to have left. If he was so desperate to capture her, she would let him. As he pulled her close, she swung all of her weight from the chain, jerking him off balance. He stumbled, and the _Liberator_ pair took immediate advantage. It was a gauche free-for-all, but it was something at least, and they battled together in a flurry of uncoordinated limbs. When once an elbow caught Dayna on the side of the head, the whole of the world rushed by her in a blur of broken firelight and whirling orange moons. It was all that she could do to avoid being trampled by the pirate's sizeable boots. 

"I'll tear both your heads off." He bent, catching her by one shoulder, swinging her around like a doll when Tarrant tried to come at him from behind. She felt the ground lurch away from her, and struggled hard, her hands digging in to sinew and bone that didn't care. Again she was swung around, a weapon turned against her friend, her flailing feet intended to lay him low. 

"Not so cocky now, either of you." She was whirled again, this time seeing Tarrant only as a blur of black and white as he dove low, beneath her, sending all three of them down to the ground. She fought to free herself, not knowing who was who and what was what in a tangle of hard fists and very much harder boots. The giant gave a roar, and as she made it at last to her feet, she saw Tarrant go flying, crashing to the ground amidst shards of exploded bonfire. He grabbed at several of them, throwing them at the giant, who swatted them aside like mosquitoes – a rain of fire that caught at several of the tents. There was a rush of wind, and the tents flared up into a massed inferno that for a moment lit the camp as bright as day. Dayna saw dead pirates in that moment; saw Avon looking on with a cruel, half smile; saw Cally with her gun at the pirate captain's throat. Saw, also, the giant snatch up Tarrant by the shirtfront, lifting him into the air. He drew back one gargantuan fist, for a blow that would surely take Tarrant's head off; and Dayna, with no idea of what else to do, hurled herself at his back. Her hands wrapped around a throat that felt thick enough for two men, struggling to make an impression, searching for anywhere soft enough to press, and crush, and throttle. He shook her, but she clung on, furious and desperate, squeezing with all of her strength. Tarrant, meanwhile, had a strategy of his own. Hauled nearer, he was reaching out towards the gun in the pirate's belt, his fingers so close, so very nearly there, that Dayna could almost hear the gunshot. It never came. Thrown aside, she crashed to the ground, Tarrant hurled after her. They lay side by side, half-stunned, as the pirate drew the gun himself, advancing upon them. Dayna waited for Avon's gunshot; waited for his voice, warning the giant to stop. That never came either. 

And then, suddenly, with a sound like the birth of a universe, the flaming morass of tents exploded. Tongues of green and blue fire leapt up, leapt out, stretching in every direction from amidst a massive cloud of white smoke. The giant staggered, caught in the concussion of the blast, fending off tendrils of coloured flame. There were sparks catching at his clothes, at his hair and his beard, and his gun fell from his hands as he slapped at his suddenly smouldering jerkin. There was blood at his ears, and he staggered, anger replaced by a confusion that cost him the fight. Dayna went for his gun, just as Tarrant, back on his feet, grabbed a chunk of burning wood to use as a club. Dayna beat him to it, and with one blast of laser fire, it was all over. Tarrant drew a deep breath, and dropped the wood. Through the ringing in her ears, Dayna thought that she heard him laugh. 

"Were you waiting for something, Avon?" She threw down the gun, lest she be tempted to turn it upon him. He smirked at her, coming over to join them, stowing his gun away as he approached. 

"You seemed to have it in hand. I have complete faith in both of you. Besides, I had already seen what was in some of those tents. I was hiding between two of them just a short time ago. Once they caught fire it was only ever a matter of time." He stared at the blue and green flames, dying back now, and raised a very expressive eyebrow. "A waste of good mining equipment, but there you go." 

"I'm sorry," said Tarrant, with only a trace of sarcasm. "Next time we'll be a little more careful when we burn down a camp." 

"Oh, that's all right. I'm sure we can salvage enough to turn some kind of a profit." Avon beckoned to Cally to bring her hostage over. "Our very willing friend here will supply the transport, and we'll be back aboard the _Liberator_ for breakfast." 

"I'll kill the lot of you," snarled the pirate captain, and Avon smiled his familiar cold smile. 

"You're very welcome to try. Tarrant, Dayna, find anything that might be worth our while. And do try not to set fire to it. I've had enough of this region of space to last me a lifetime, so I shall take what I can get here and call it quits. As far as I'm concerned, the Federation can keep its magentastone. Cally?" 

"What?" she asked him, sending him a mental glare so sharp that he almost faltered. He smiled, a brief twitch of the lips that made his eyes spark with dark humour. Whatever terse order he had been about to give, he clearly thought it more prudent to abandon. 

"Thank you. For following me. I do appreciate it, I assure you." 

"Oh, that's quite all right Avon." She smiled then, urging the pirate captain towards him through the ruins of the camp. "But next time, just so that we're clear, I'll be the one coming up with the plan. Understood?" 

For once, nobody made any attempt to argue.

 

The End


End file.
